[open] and today is our turn

[drakon]

your mouth is a revolver, firing bullets in the sky

He is a creature of extremes. Extreme heat. Extreme passion. Volatile. Raging. He is born into the storm of his mother’s love and he thrives there. Thrives amongst his twin of a sister, his equal in so many ways. His young heart thunders in his chest as he runs through the meadow, spindly legs eating up the earth that rises to meet him. He bugles as he goes, a thin sound in his youthful throat, but he doesn’t mind.

There is a small spurting fire that follows him, spluttering in protest, harmless against the spring growth—and the air grows warm as he runs. He does not quite command the summer as he someday might, but he does influence it. Call to it. And it follows him the same as that path of flame. Weak, but only for now. It is the imitation of summer. The echo of it. But in the throes of spring, it is enough for him.

Warm, comforting.

He thinks he can hear the crack of thunder somewhere off in the distance.

It is enough.

He comes to a stop, body trembling from the effort and breathes in deep. It tastes of ash and the air is thick with the promise of rain. He shivers and the cracks along his body tremor like earthquakes, as though threatening to split him open. Instead, he simply glows like a log caught aflame. Splintered and yet whole, kept together with nothing but charred wood and the constant, ever hungry fire.

Pleased, Drakon continues on again—this time at a more reasonable pace.

Who knew what adventures he would have today.

your love is like a soldier, loyal 'till you die